


Touch A Body

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, references past abuse but nothing explicit, references to the Red Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4462739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone thought they knew Natasha, but that was inherently hard to do when she didn't really know herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch A Body

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wolves_and_girls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolves_and_girls/gifts).



When you touch a body, you touch the whole person, the intellect, the spirit, and the emotions.  
– Jane Harrington

 

In the quiet fallout after Ultron's defeat, the New Avengers banded together in New York to train and get to know each other as a team. Clockwork precision fighting was easy, but it was the steady camaraderie and friendships that took work. Natasha kept waiting for more fallout, for Congress to begin subpoenaing any one of them, for various international organizations to start crying out for oversight. The writing was on the wall, and she felt so terribly exposed. Still, better this than keeping to the shadows, masks and webs of lies surrounding her. She didn't know what was coming next, exactly, and her guesses could be wrong, but at least she would face them with her friends.

Sacrifice was easy. Finding a worthy cause was not.

Somehow, Steve got it in his head to return the favor and find her dates on those rare weekends off from training. It was a parade of men too intimidated by her status as an Avenger or history as the Black Widow, or some too interested in her sordid history and thinking they could get her to reenact it on a first date. "I appreciate the thought," she told Steve, patting his arm with a wan smile. "But really, I'm fine. I have work."

"You didn't let that excuse go for me," he pointed out cheerfully enough to make her want to strangle him. "I know dating isn't the be-all or end-all of life. But I'd like to see you branch out, meet people aside from us. Apparently just going to dance halls and clubs isn't a thing anymore, so dating it is."

"You are not _that_ out of touch with current culture," she accused.

Steve grinned, eyes dancing with amusement. "But it's such a convenient excuse when I don't want to deal with something."

"Troll," she teased, lips twisting in a wry smile.

He actually gave her a preening expression. "Sometimes. C'mon, Natasha. One more? This one is a recommendation from Clint. Apparently he's a lawyer."

"Do I need one?" Natasha asked dryly.

"Not yet, but it can't hurt to have one in your corner," Steve replied, shrugging.

For Steve's sake, she agreed to one last blind date. Which turned out to be literal.

Matt Murdock was blind since a childhood accident, and worked as a lawyer in Hell's Kitchen, a neighborhood in New York that was starting to become more gentrified. It was still full of a seedier element, but Matt had grown up in the area and didn't want to move. "Plus, I got a great deal on my apartment, and it's not far from where we set up our offices. It's ideal for me," he explained as they sat down over dinner.

Natasha felt awkward. Not for his blindness, which he had clearly adjusted to and didn't treat as a fact he should be pitied for. She didn't know what to say without a cover identity. There were too few interests that were purely hers, separate from personality overlays or covers or spur of the moment fabrications to needle people. She had been a cipher for so long, it was hard not to be one anymore.

"You've probably read the files about me that were on the Internet," she began.

"Nope," Matt replied cheerfully. "I'm sure Foggy did, though. That's my friend. I hear there's all sorts of questionable material in there, lots of international secrets and cover ups that make a spy novel look tame."

"I suppose," Natasha replied. "Any time I try to read one, I can guess the ending fairly quickly and I can see all the mistakes the hero makes."

He laughed, a genuine and warm sound that washed over her. That was what she had been looking for when flirting with Bruce. Something that could be hers, yet something safe and not necessarily having to progress to more.

"I suppose that's like me reading a book with lawyers in it. You can tell when the author hasn't done any research on the topic." He grinned, face open and inviting as he looked in her direction. "So what is it that you normally like to do? Even you can't be a spy all the time."

She was at a loss, and for a moment her breath caught in her throat. "I suppose I'm still trying to figure that part out."

"Sounds like a story," he said gently. His expression was sympathetic, not judgmental, which she appreciated. She didn't need pity, just understanding.

"It's a story far too heavy and tragic for a first date," she said, infusing a lightness to her tone that she didn't feel.

"We can pretend this is our tenth date," Matt offered, reaching across the table to touch her hand.

Natasha startled; his reach had been unerring, but she also hadn't expected the slide of skin on skin. Her breath rattled in her chest for a moment, and she waited for the loathing at being touched to kick in.

"I—I'm sorry," Matt stammered sheepishly, drawing his hand away. "I guess I thought we were having a moment."

"It's not your fault," Natasha said quickly. Why hadn't her aversion to touch kicked in yet? "It's mine. It's... It's part of that story."

"Are you comfortable telling that part of it?"

"Maybe," she said after a moment. "But not here. Not in a public place."

He smiled wide enough that she could see the crinkling at the corners of his eyes, even behind his tinted glasses. "Isn't that moving things a little fast? Not that I'm complaining, I've had a good time so far, but I don't want you to feel obligated. Or pressured."

Natasha smiled at him, a genuineness there as well. "I don't feel pressured. Trust me, I'll tell you when I am."

"In that case, my apartment is nearby. I think I have some tea for a story, if you'd like some."

She relaxed and nodded. "I'd like that. I like tea." At least of that much, she was certain.

The walk to his apartment was as quick as he promised and full of easygoing conversation that didn't feel forced at all. He didn't care that she was a famous and notorious spy that was blamed for all sorts of evils. He talked about growing up with a boxer for a father, the struggles with doing tasks due to his disability, the current struggles in building and maintaining a practice with his friend Foggy. All the while, he was careful not to touch her unnecessarily.

"That's definitely a story there," Natasha said with a smile as they entered his apartment.

"Definitely," he agreed with a little laugh. "But I thought we're here for a different story."

Natasha sobered. "Yes, I guess we are."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Matt told her quickly, which she appreciated. "We can still have tea and talk."

"No, it's all right. It's... uncomfortable. But I'm getting used to it. I'm making myself be more open with people. To trust where appropriate."

Matt smiled gently from the kitchen island where he was making her a mug of tea. "In that case, I'm quite honored."

When the tea was ready, she sat across from Matt and cupped the mug in her hands. She sipped it slowly, gathering her thoughts. "I was trained to be a spy from a young age. I must have been four or five, I think."

"So you grew up with it," Matt commented.

"I wasn't a child, not really," Natasha replied, not sure if that was really an answer or not. "It didn't feel like much to kill or maim or torture. I got top marks, and that's what they praised. It was all I knew for a long time." She looked from her mug to Matt's thoughtful expression. "It wasn't just that, though. Our bodies were tools. There was nothing important or sacred about it, and our bodies simply had to work. We had to use them in whatever would get the job done."

"That sounds rather ominous."

"Sometimes we were used to trap officials. There's nothing like the threat of photographs leaking to the press to make a politician fall in line. But it wasn't just politicians or marks. It could be some of the handlers or trainers, too. We had to satisfy their desires, whatever they were, whenever they were."

Matt sucked in a breath. "And of course, they normalized it. You were there to serve their purposes. You didn't have rights of your own."

"There are other things that happened," Natasha murmured, nodding. "Memories they put in or took out. Personality overlays from people I had to be. Cover identities. Training. I remember..." Her voice trailed off and she took a sip of her tea. "I remember too many contradictory things, to be honest. But I remember a trainer that I really cared about. He cared about me in turn. I suppose it could be called love, for what I knew of it at the time. I liked it when he touched me, because it wasn't to use me. I wasn't an object to him. I wasn't an interchangeable body. I was _me,_ whoever that was, and he was the same for me."

"It sounds like trauma," he said quietly. "Touch aversion. Physical alienation from your own body, because it was never really treated as yours."

"It has in recent years, but I was supposed to be comfortable with everything."

"Supposed to be," Matt echoed with a dubious note. "But that doesn't mean you were."

"Looking back, I was. I think. But now..."

"But now," he echoed again. "Now it's different. Now you are only yourself, whoever that is, and you don't know what to do or feel anymore."

"Exactly."

"Then maybe we should figure out what you like."

Natasha hastily swallowed the tea she had been drinking. "What?"

"If you trust me," Matt continued. "It goes as far as you like. Just to figure out what kind of touch is okay with you."

"This isn't silly?" she asked, a hesitant note in her voice she didn't expect to hear.

"I think reclaiming yourself after trauma is the farthest thing from silly." He gestured toward his glasses. "Trust me on that part, Natasha."

She let out a breath and nodded. "I do, actually. I have good instincts on this. You're a good man, Matt. I'm glad we were introduced."

"I don't want you to romanticize things, though. Even good men sometimes do bad things," he said with a shrug.

"Trust me, I'm fully aware of that. I'm not romanticizing a thing. I'm done with that."

"A different story for a different day?" he asked.

Natasha smiled as he came across the sitting area to sit beside her. "Let's get through this day first, shall we?"

"I think it's going pretty well for a first date," Matt replied with a self deprecating smile. "Much better than any of my other ones, at least."

"Much better than mine recently," she agreed. Putting the mug down on his coffee table, Natasha shifted and faced him. "Okay. I'm ready."

Matt clucked and shook his head. "You're too tense. Loosen up. You're in control of how far all of this goes, remember? Where you want it to go and no further."

Experimentally, he touched her shoulder over the red silk blouse she had worn. Dragging his fingers down her arm in a caress also didn't seem to trigger an adverse response. Knowing he was about to touch her hand was fine in this moment. "I'm fine if I touch others," Natasha murmured, thinking of Bruce and his lullaby. "I'm fine if I know it's coming."

"Hm." Matt thought for a moment, lips pursed. "Turn around."

She sat with stiff, perfect posture until his hands came down to her shoulders. Not knowing it was coming, there was a startle again. Her breath stuttered as his hands came down her back, just inside the straps of her bra, tracing the outline of her shoulder blades. His touch was gentle and soothing, repetitive, almost like a massage. Natasha found herself relaxing into his touch after a few repetitions.

Moving from her back to her arms and waist, Matt moved slowly and methodically, never straying too far into that nebulous uncomfortable zone. "How are you doing this?" she asked, voice soft and hushed, not wanting to break the spell.

"Touching you?" he asked, a trace of amusement in his voice. "Well, I just put my hands out..."

"I mean, not going too far. I haven't had to push you back once."

He lifted her hair from her neck and let his fingers ghost down along her skin. It sent a shiver down her spine that was far from unpleasant. In fact, she almost liked it. "Is it creepy if I say that I can hear your heartbeat? If it speeds up too much, I back off."

"It's a skill to be so sensitive." Her voice was almost hoarse to her own ears. "Do that again."

"What? This?" he asked, brushing his fingers down the length of her neck again. When Natasha nodded wordlessly, he repeated the stroke, going from the nape of her neck, under her hairline, down toward the inside of her collar. He leaned forward a bit, his breath against her skin. Instead of making her jump, it made her shiver and catch her breath. "I think you like this," he breathed.

"Yeah, I think we can put that down as a good place."

Matt let his fingers follow the arch of her neck, then slowly down to her collarbone. "This isn't a line, believe it or not, but why don't you take off the blouse?"

Natasha chuckled. "That absolutely sounds like a line."

He chuckled along with her, smile wide and open as she removed the blouse. On impulse, she took her bra off as well, tossing them both aside.

Slowly and deliberately, he brought his hands across the skin of her back, her hair pushed over her shoulder and out of the way. Down the slope of her neck, he traced her spine, the wings of her shoulders, the bumps of her ribs, the dip of her waist. Natasha could feel herself responding to this touch, gentle and not insistent in the least, craving more of it, wanting to feel this kind of connection after all. "Your breath," she murmured after a moment. "You can use that. And your lips, too, if you want."

"I'm only touching your back," Matt murmured, though he leaned in and blew across her skin gently. "Are you sure this isn't too fast for you?"

"It's like ripping a band-aid off, I think," Natasha murmured. And then, just to prove her point, she turned around to face him, naked to the waist, her breasts bare for him to touch. When he hesitated, she grasped his hands and put them directly on her breasts. "We're doing okay so far, Matt." Her voice was definitely raspy and needy. "I want to know if this is okay. I want to know if I like this."

His touch was reverent and slow, caressing her body as if she was a goddess to be worshipped, as if there was no such thing as time or past or memory. There was only the everpresent now, the sensation of his hands on her, lines and curves and even strokes of his fingers. He brought his lips to her scars before her breasts, traced them with fingertips, lips and tongue. His breath was warm and an additional sensation for her to process.

"Natasha," he murmured with a smile, palms abrading her nipples gently. "I have the most sacrilegious thought right now. Want to hear it?"

"I've never been religious, so sure."

"Part of the sacrament, they say 'This is my body, given for you. Do this, in the remembrance of me,'" Matt recited. His smile was rueful, which Natasha found charming on him. "I've never been a good Catholic, though."

"God bless that," she replied, and then reached out to touch him in turn.

It was different, wanting to do this and doing this simply because she wanted to. There was no point to this other than exploration, just because she could. This wasn't an op, wasn't a honey pot mission, wasn't a role she was putting on. This was _her,_ that nebulous thing she still couldn't define, but she wanted to know what Matt felt like under her hands. She wanted to know how he tasted, how he sounded, how he would shatter.

Their mouths came together at one point, and it was that same slow exploration. His lips against hers, tongue darting out to taste her. She licked into his mouth, hearing a whine in the back of his throat, but he didn't push any farther. Natasha wasn't sure if she would have wanted him to, or if that would make her retreat further into herself.

He dragged his mouth away to kiss her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. Again, his lips came to the scar at her shoulder, the second time the Winter Soldier tried to kill her. His hands continued to roam over her body, all above the waist, and she found herself starting to lean into his touch, breath hitching with need. "I definitely like this," she murmured, cupping the back of his head as he licked a stripe down the slope of a breast.

"Good," he replied, voice strained. "'Cause I like this, too, and it would be really awful if you wanted me to stop."

"It would?" she asked, scratching at his scalp lightly.

"Yeah. I want to keep touching you. Can we? Can we get the pants off?"

She laughed a little, feeling lighter in her chest. If she said no, he would respect that. If she backed off and put her clothes back on and left, he would accept it. She was in control of her body. Touch didn't have to mean anything more than that, didn't have to be a lure, didn't have to be a trap. There were no strings here, nothing she didn't want.

So she undid the fastenings on her dress pants, kicked off her shoes and pushed everything off of her hips. Matt helped drag them down to the floor, kneeling in front of her as he helped slide the pants and socks off. After a moment's hesitation, she pushed off her panties as well. He audibly gulped when he realized what was coming off next. The picture of him kneeling in front of her made her mouth water. _Her,_ not a domme personality overlay, not a cover identity that had to like subservient men. She liked him kneeling there, clothed while she was naked, because his mouth was _right there_ and his lips and tongue so far had been so exquisitely sensitive and gentle. She wanted to know what it was like to have his mouth on her, worshipping her that way, exploring her every crevice.

"You might wanna lie down," he rasped. She could see the outline of his cock straining against his pants, but he made no move to palm himself.

Natasha draped herself across his couch, and he was still kneeling beside it. Now his hands traveled the length of each shapely leg, caressing the curves, the knobs of her knees, the sensitive skin behind each knee, the ankle, the instep, the foot and toes as they curled. His touch was slow and deliberate as his hands traveled across her body, puffs of breath warm and moist against her hip, betraying his increasing desire. He put his glasses aside when he leaned down to lick her skin or run his lips along her leg. She could see the rapt expression on his face clearly now.

This was taunting them both. And she was finding that she _loved it._

Unable to take the building tension anymore, Natasha shifted and tossed a leg over Matt's shoulder. His mouth was right where she wanted it, his hands cupping her ass and kneading gently. "You can taste me there," she said, voice hoarse. Good God, she wanted this, needed to have his mouth on her. She couldn't remember clearly wanting this as herself before, but she definitely wanted this now.

This was her. This was _Natasha's_ desire. This was her reclaiming her body.

And then his mouth came down over her center, nuzzling first. It was like with her arms or back, gentle, giving her a chance to adjust to him being there. Then came his open mouth, his breath right there, teasing her before his tongue darted out to press against her. Matt licked slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, as if she was a sweet to savor, and Natasha found herself calling out his name as she grasped hold of his couch.

She gave herself over to the sensation of his tongue on her, licking into her folds, tracing circles around her clit, making her heart speed up in her chest. She bucked when a finger slid inside her, but he sucked gently on her clit, and the breath felt dragged out of her. "That. That's good," she gasped, voice breaking. "I like that." Tentatively reaching down, Natasha slid her fingers through his hair in encouragement.

Matt lifted his mouth with a sly grin, lips slick. Knowing how they got that way made her heart stutter in her chest, longing for more curling low in her belly. "You can touch yourself, too. I shouldn't have all the fun here."

That made sense, but hadn't been something she was usually enamored by. Her attempts at masturbation for her own pleasure had been perfunctory, more to take the edge off than to really explore her body or what she liked. Moving her free hand to her stomach, she dragged it across her skin as Matt returned to licking into her earnestly. It was different now, knowing he was with her, knowing he wanted her to touch herself. He wanted her to feel good, he wanted her pleasure, he didn't want to hurt her. If it was too much, she could stop.

Natasha moaned when she got up to caressing her own breast, thumb flicking the nipple. Oh, yes. That still felt good, even if it wasn't Matt doing it. Closing her eyes, and arching into her own touch, she bit her lip to muffle her cries. Matt curled his finger inside her as he licked and sucked, and she could see stars behind her eyes. "Close," she managed to gasp out. "More, right there, like that."

He did exactly as she asked, and she came. It was a flood of pleasure through her, warmth and comfort and a loosening of all the tension within her body. She felt like she was floating, the uneasy functionality of her limbs gone. Matt gave a few more licks, easing her down, before nuzzling her thighs and dropping little kisses in lines down to her knees.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, watching him, biting her lip. "You can take off your clothes," she whispered.

Looking up, he tilted his head to the side, pressing his cheek against her knee. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am." She reached down and traced a line from between his eyebrows to the tip of his nose. "I want to feel you everywhere."

"I don't have anything for protection," he murmured apologetically. "I don't date much."

"It's okay," she murmured, a slight spike of anxiety in her chest suddenly. Would she have to say why it was okay? Would she have to explain? Would she feel awkward and monstrous, appear lacking in his eyes?

"If you're sure," he replied, voice a little shaky. But his clothes came off easily, especially when she assisted him, and she let her hands and eyes roam over his form. His muscles were well defined, as were bruises and scars from knives. Matt's breath caught when her hand closed over his erect cock, stroking him gently, palm sliding over the head. "I am _really_ glad I agreed to go to dinner with you," he said.

Natasha laughed. "You know what? So am I."

She brought her lips to his cock and licked, hearing his breath catch and feeling the tension in his thighs as he worked to hold still. She was familiar with this kind of power, and that wasn't the part that intrigued her. Using sex to gain information wasn't new at all.

But she didn't want any information from him. She didn't want anything from him other than his touch, his skin on hers, his pleasure and hers. It was extremely freeing.

Matt groaned when she swallowed him whole, hands balled in fists at his sides. "God, I want to touch you. But I can't promise I won't try to fuck your mouth if I do."

The words made her temperature rise, and that same heat between her legs rose again. She pulled back, his cock leaving her lips with a soft pop, and she found herself grinning at him. "Not what I want you to do right now, Matt."

Now he reached for her, tracing her face with his fingers, finding her smile and answering it with one of his own. "So what do you want?"

"I want to feel you inside me. I want to feel what that's like when I want it."

He was on her insistently, kissing and nuzzling and touching, and then he was guiding his cock inside her. Matt moved slowly, which Natasha simultaneously appreciated and cursed. But then the entire length of him was inside her, and she could trace the planes of muscle in his back and cup his ass, bringing her knees up to give him a better angle.

"Touch me," she whispered, looking up at him. His eyes might have been just slightly off from hers, but the look he gave her was intent, and shook her to the core.

Even without vision, he _saw_ her. It was like he could see the emptiness and loneliness behind her masks, and he was more than willing to fill them in.

They moved in concert, slowly, establishing a rhythm and what kind of touch was good. Matt bit his lip, no doubt holding back so he didn't simply fuck her into the couch cushions. That could be for next time, she decided, then wondered at that decision.

And then he was kissing her, still moving as he did so, gasping for air. And when he pulled back, groaning, he pulled out and came across her stomach, sticky and warm. He held himself above her, shaking a little. Natasha dragged her fingers through his come, watching him as he struggled to get himself under control. She liked watching him, she realized. He had such an expressive face, and was thoughtful of her needs. Pushing her slicked fingers down to her clit, she reached up for one of his hands and wordlessly dragged it down to her breast. Matt understood and started to tease the nipple, another sensation purely for her benefit.

Natasha came, watching his expression, knowing he could hear her, could figure out what she was doing, and feeling that it was somehow hotter for that. Letting her hands fall limp, she smiled lazily up at Matt. "Mmmm. Thank you."

"If this was your idea of a first date," Matt said, "I'd love to see your idea of a second."

She laughed out loud, then pulled him down for another kiss. "We'll see. The first date isn't even over yet," she promised.

"I like the sound of that," Matt murmured against her mouth.

For a change, Natasha did, too.

The End


End file.
